


The Little Baggage

by aworldwithnomorenight



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera - Gaston Leroux
Genre: (On Philippe's part), Class Differences, Erik doesn't exist in this AU, F/M, Family Drama, Gen, Misogyny, Slut Shaming, Unplanned Pregnancy, Unreliable Narrator, Unsympathetic Philippe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-10
Updated: 2020-08-17
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:14:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25830409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aworldwithnomorenight/pseuds/aworldwithnomorenight
Summary: If Raoul won't listen to reason and insists on marrying the scheming little Swede, Philippe will take matters into his own hands and confront Christine Daaé directly.
Relationships: Christine Daaé & Philippe de Chagny, Raoul de Chagny/Christine Daaé
Comments: 18
Kudos: 19





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Monsieur Worth" refers to Charles Frederick Worth who ran the House of Worth, the most famous fashion house of its day. He dressed empresses and queens, as well as the most famous actresses at the time. Chances are if you've ever drooled over a Victorian or Edwardian gown, it was probably a Worth creation.

It had taken Philippe entirely too long to realize his brother was perhaps the most foolish man alive. But Raoul’s stupidity was Philippe’s fault and no one else’s.

The late Comte was so consumed with grief after Maman died giving birth to Raoul that he couldn’t bear to even look at his own son. This neglect left Philippe in charge of Raoul’s upbringing and he'd made all the decisions since the boy was still in the cradle. And what a shoddy job he'd done. He'd foolishly trusted his sisters to look after Raoul’s education and they'd filled his head with fairy stories and other nonsense about knights and true love and chivalry. It would have been easy to blame anyone else, but like always, Philippe shouldered the burden. He had allowed Raoul to develop these ideas. And now Raoul was looking at making the worst decision of his life because of it.

Ah, yes, plain little Christine Daaé who had enchanted Raoul so. Truly, Philippe could not see whatever it was that endeared her to Raoul. She was a skinny little thing, equipped with a spectacular voice, yes, but a voice alone could not keep a man company at night. Perhaps that was it, Raoul had his first taste of what a woman could do for him in the bedroom and was hooked, not realizing that any woman could easily take her place. For although Raoul had made bold, childish declarations of staying true to his hypothetical future wife, Philippe knew the truth. Raoul had blushed scarlet when informing his brother he intended to take Miss Daaé out for the night, feigning nonchalance as he said “perhaps I won’t be home until tomorrow”. At least he hoped Raoul had gotten his money’s worth out of her.

Philippe gave Raoul quite a sizable and generous allowance, especially considering pre-Daaé the boy hardly spent any of it. He had to cajole Raoul into keeping up with the current fashion, for if he didn’t, Raoul would appear in threadbare suits at important society functions. But this Daaé girl had reached into Raoul’s wallet and hadn’t let it out of her iron grip since. Now, Raoul had run up accounts of thousands of francs at practically every fashionable store in Paris, showering the little baggage with luxuries large and small. After the family accountant, wringing his hands in anxiety, informed him of Raoul’s lavish spending, Philippe resolved to keep a closer eye on things. Now, he received reports every week of Raoul’s expenditures. 

Sorelli had informed him, with a hint of jealousy in her voice, that the Daaé girl had replaced her modest wardrobe with Monsieur Worth’s finest creations, accessorized of course with rubies and sapphires that the Vicomte seemed to reward her with after every performance. And that wasn't the only shocking story Philippe’s paramour had to tell. 

It wasn't as if Raoul's extravagant spending was bankrupting the family, no, the Chagnys would not be undone just because one of them liked to spoil his lover. If that were the case, the late Comte would have put them in the poorhouse. That wasn't the issue, not at all. But, after a particularly hefty bill from the jeweler’s, Philippe couldn't stave off his curiosity any longer. He wrote to the Cartier family, inquiring exactly what was purchased. His valet delivered it by hand and Philippe received a response the next day. 

He was furious to learn that Raoul had commissioned the most expensive engagement ring in the history of the store, a disgustingly large diamond surrounded by opals, with a matching necklace and earrings to boot. 

Raoul had often protested that the family babied him, even though he was a full-grown man. But how could they not? His toddler self, throwing fits over scratchy sailor suits, was preferable and more mature than the twenty-one-year-old who spent more than a factory worker might earn in a lifetime in the span of one day, all for the benefit of the greedy little Swede who couldn’t offer him anything but what was between her thighs. And now, Raoul wanted to marry her?

When confronted, Raoul didn’t even attempt to deny any of it. He grinned madly, the poor foolish boy, proclaiming that he loved Christine Daaé more than anything in the world, more than the duty he had to his family. Figuratively stomping on everything Philippe and generations of Chagnys had worked so hard to provide for him, Raoul gloated as he spoke of how she would one day be the Comtesse de Chagny and Philippe was powerless to stop him. 

Philippe resisted the urge to throttle him and pretended to be unruffled. “So you plan for my imminent death, do you, Raoul?”

Raoul’s fierce demeanor softened and his head drooped. “Of course not. But you’ve never… well, if you haven’t married by now, you never will. So Christine and I and our future children, someday, will inherit everything.”  
  
Philippe unclenched his fists. He put aside the horrifying vision of everything the Chagny family had worked towards for the last few centuries crumbling to dust. For he had the delicious revelation that he still was one step ahead of Raoul, the gratifying feeling that he knew something that Raoul didn’t. The uncertain way Raoul spoke of future children, Philippe realized, indicated the boy had no idea what Sorelli had told him. He was completely ignorant of the fact that the Daaé girl was knitting baby stockings at the sitzprobe for _La Princesse de Trébizonde_ yesterday, for if Raoul did know about the bastard child, he would have already married the girl to spare her already lacking reputation. Obviously, the conniving little golddigger hadn’t told him yet.

Philippe should never have indulged Raoul and allowed him to play at being an adult. It was apparent that the boy needed to be taught a harsh lesson and Miss Daaé removed from his life permanently. With Sorelli’s latest revelation about the girl’s dirty little secret, the final piece of the puzzle fell into place. Since Raoul was too stubborn to ever see reason, especially now since Philippe had contradicted his upside-down view of reality, it left the Comte no choice. He would have to go to the source of all these problems, Christine Daaé herself. Finally, he would rid Raoul of her undue influence, for good this time.

Raoul had secured a fashionable apartment for Christine just two blocks from the opera, Philippe knew. Raoul was so inexperienced in the ways of love that he failed to choose a discreet building that would allow him to come and go unnoticed. Several of their noble acquaintances lived here. What an embarrassment.

He knew Miss Daaé was home before he even knocked, he could hear her practicing her scales as soon as he reached the third floor. He rapped on the door with his walking stick, evidently startling her as she let out a little shriek. 

The door opened half an inch and clear blue eyes stared back at him. Christine Daaé’s brows furrowed in confusion. 

“Miss Daaé, we haven't had the pleasure of meeting before. I'm the Comte de Chagny. I believe you might know my brother.”

The door opened just a hair more. “Yes, I know who you are, Monsieur le Comte.”

“May I come in?”

She opened the door all the way. She did not offer her hand, but Philippe took it anyway and kissed it. She flinched, reflexively.

There was a pregnant pause, then she spoke. “Won't you come in?”

He could see some of her appeals, he thought as he settled on the sofa. She wasn't the sort of girl worth giving up your family for, but up close she was quite a pretty little doll. 

“Miss Daaé,” he started, after declining a cup of tea. “I regret that we are not meeting under happier circumstances.”

She guarded her expression. “I did not know these were unhappy circumstances, forgive me.”

“Oh, not unhappy, I suppose,” he waved his hand in an approximation of geniality. “In fact, congratulations are due. I’d bring out the champagne if the doctor would allow it.”

Her eyes narrowed. “I'm sure I don't know what you mean.” Still, Philippe could tell she was deeply uncomfortable, fingers digging in tight to the arm of her chair. 

“Miss Daaé, I have plenty of eyes and ears at the opera,” he crossed his legs. “I heard you may be carrying a little secret.”

She gulped. "And what of it?” she toyed with the strand of pearls around her neck, one Philippe was certain had once belonged to his mother. “What is it to you?”

“My poor little brother is enchanted by you. I know he's made several overnight visits to your lodgings. Now, of course, you could have other nighttime guests, there's no way of knowing for sure that he was the only one-”

“How dare you?” she bristled. “Raoul and I are going to get married one day.”

“Of course, I know his intentions... Raoul has always been prone to… romanticized views of what a relationship between a man and woman must be. It's my fault really, I let my sisters raise him to be this way. He's so besotted with you that he'd do anything you asked. Die for you, kill for you. He wants to marry you. He’s told me so himself. And it's why you must break it off with him, for his own sake.”

“Why would I do that?”

“To spare him the undue burden of losing everything he loves except you.”

She stiffened. “Raoul doesn't care-”

“Raoul doesn't care about his family? You don't know the first thing about my family. Yes, he thinks he loves you, his first childish infatuation. And maybe the two of you could be happy for a time, of course. But what happens when the money runs out?”

She began to speak, but he interrupted her. 

“You must love your Vicomte now, after all, he can provide quite generously for you. Raoul is a fool, but I figure you are intelligent enough to realize I won't enable Raoul to play this game with you. I’ll cut him off without the slightest hesitation. Raoul is a learned man and quite a capable sailor, but he won't be able to spoil you like he has been these past six months. Society will close its doors on him, his position in life irrevocably changed. Are you prepared for that?”

She had a steely gaze he could not read. It deeply unsettled him as she spoke. “I am.”

“I see. Now, I want you to name your number.”

“Number?” she blinked. “I don't know what you mean.”

“I'm sorry, your price,” he grew frustrated. "How much will it cost for you to go away forever?”

“You claim to love your brother,” she said, curiously tilting her head. “Yet you want him to suffer.”

“My dear, I know he will suffer far more as ‘Monsieur Daaé’ than he will after the temporary inconvenience of losing a lover. He will find some new shiny object of his affections.”

Christine Daaé pursed her lips. “You really don't know your brother, do you?”

The question pierced Philippe’s armor, a sharp stab, but only for a moment. “I have known him since he was born. He doesn't know what he's doing.”

“You still think of him as a child, don't you?”

“How about twenty thousand francs to break things off? I have contacts who could find you a spot at any other opera house of your choosing.”

“You want me to leave the city, is that it?" she raised one eyebrow. "I'm quite happy here in Paris.”

Flustered, he raised his offer.“Forty thousand, and you'll go to a doctor to get rid of your little problem.”

Daaé feigned obliviousness to the tension in the air. “You'd like me to get an abortion? That's quite dangerous, you know. I could die.”

 _That would kill two birds with one stone,_ the cruel part of his brain wanted to say. “I know a good doctor who could very discreetly help you. I have his address in my pocket.”

The girl patted her belly. “I’d thought you would be pleased to have a little niece or nephew. Perhaps if it's a boy, we would name him after you. Or after your mother, if she was a girl.” 

Philippe ground his teeth together, his rage barely suppressed. How dare she bring up naming her whelp after Maman? Was he just imagining things or was she gloating? Was she actually proud of herself for entrapping Raoul? The absolute arrogance of the little hussy appalled him to no end. These manipulation tactics obviously worked on naive, helpless Raoul to great effect, but she had to be the stupidest whore alive to think she could influence Philippe, of all people.

“Miss Daaé, I have been more than generous, far more than you deserved. If you'd like to drag Raoul down into the depths of ruin and disgrace, then, by all means, feel free to do so. Inevitably, Raoul will grow tired of his game and resent you, perhaps even enough to leave you and come crawling back to me, begging for forgiveness. And then where will you be? A used-up trollop, forced to peddle her dubious wares on the street. Is that what you want? Is it?”

He hadn't realized he'd been shouting until Daaé’s facade cracked and a great heaving sob wracked her body. She burst into messy tears, burying her head in her hands. 

Philippe had never felt more ill at ease. He had never made a woman cry like that and certainly hadn't intended to. He stuck his hand into his pocket and produced a silk handkerchief. He approached her and she recoiled as if he might strike her. The sinking feeling in his stomach worsened. He hadn't counted on the girl having feelings he could hurt. He had gone too far.

“I… I didn't intend to hurt you,” he offered the handkerchief, which she reluctantly accepted. “And I shouldn't have made you cry.” It was the closest thing to an apology he was willing to give.

Her red eyes did not meet his. “Please leave, Monsieur le Comte. Please.”

“I only meant-”

“You know, I always considered myself unfortunate, that I never had a brother or sister. But perhaps I am one of the lucky ones, for I have no one to meddle in my love affairs as Raoul does.”

He was speechless, so she continued.

“I planned on telling Raoul about the baby tonight. But instead, perhaps I’ll break off our courtship, as you've requested. No forty thousand francs required,” she smiled bitterly, dabbing at her tears. “For his own sake, as you said.”

As Philippe showed himself out of the apartment, he couldn’t help but wonder if he’d done the wrong thing. But how could he? He was only looking out for Raoul’s best interest. The boy would thank him later and this whole incident would be laughed off. He had to believe that. He had to. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know. I do enjoy reading stories where Philippe is a good big brother and supportive of the R/C relationship. I enjoy them a lot... but in Leroux, he really is only second to Erik in trying to prevent Raoul and Christine from getting married. The original #TeamErik fanboy if you will. Such a shame that Erik drowned Philippe, they probably could have bonded over trying to stop the wedding and perhaps get up to some hilarious hijinks. Still a better sequel than Love Never Dies. Anyway.
> 
> R/C is always canon in my book, so don't worry, the situation will resolve itself... somehow. Hopefully, without anyone dying. I don't really plan on following up on this one, it was more of a writing exercise to get the creative juices flowing for the next chapter of "I Shall Never Marry" (shameless plug right there).
> 
> EDIT: Obviously I changed my mind and added another chapter


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I said I probably wouldn't follow this up, but I couldn't help myself. This chapter is dedicated to cxe128!
> 
> Also, to be clear, Raoul's mother died when he was born (as is true in Leroux). Trigger warnings for mentions of self-harm.

Raoul was supposed to dine with him the next night, but he didn’t show. No matter, the poor boy was probably nursing his emotional wounds after Miss Daaé ended their affair. But after the second day, Philippe grew concerned. When he checked with the housekeeper, she told him that Raoul had not come home at all. So it wasn’t a matter of the two brother’s schedules misaligning. 

Philippe couldn’t help but think back to the time when Raoul had gotten dangerously close to seriously hurting himself. He was just a boy of sixteen when the valet in charge of dressing him had reported to Philippe that Raoul’s arms were littered with cuts and burns. When questioned, the boy denied that anyone had hurt him, and sheepishly admitted he had done it himself, “just to see what it felt like.” As far as Philippe knew, it hadn’t happened again since. 

At the time, Philippe hadn’t considered Raoul to be in danger of anything besides a few unsightly scars. But now he wondered if Raoul might have seriously done himself some injury over Miss Daaé. 

On the fifth day, Philippe was just about to turn in for the night when a servant informed him that the Vicomte had returned home. Philippe found his way to Raoul’s bedroom, and even from down the hall, he could tell his brother was agitated.

“I don’t mean to be rude, Faucheux,” he could hear Raoul addressing the servant. “But, as I’ve told you, I don’t need any help. I won’t be staying very long. And please, for the love of God, don’t wake my brother.”

Philippe stood in the door frame. “Why do you say that?”

Raoul looked at his brother for a moment with pure disgust, then turned away, running his hand through his hair, which was already mussed and sticking up in every possible direction. 

Philippe surveyed the room. Raoul had torn the place apart, all his possessions either on the floor or thrown in his suitcase. It was apparent he was searching for something.

“Where have you been?” Philippe chided. “I haven’t seen you in nearly a week.”

“Oh, he wants to know where I’ve been, does he?” Raoul directed the question at Faucheux, whose nervous expression indicated he wanted nothing to do with the misunderstanding between the brothers. “Well, Faucheux, you tell him I know where he’s been-"

Philippe wanted to grab him by the shoulders and shake him. “Raoul, what are you, eleven years old? For God’s sake, speak to me directly. Faucheux, you may leave.”

The servant obliged, giving a quick nod and exiting the room.

Raoul angrily stalked around the room, yanking out the drawer in his bedside table and digging through the contents. He was muttering under his breath, but what he was saying, Philippe couldn’t determine.

“Raoul, what’s come over you?” 

Raoul finally turned to him with unadulterated hatred on his face. “You-” he jabbed an accusing finger in Philippe’s direction. “ _ You _ know what you did. You tried to rob me of everything I hold dear in this life. And for that, I will never forgive you.”

Philippe furrowed his brow in concern. “Surely this trifling business with Miss Daaé-”

“How dare you speak her name!” Raoul slammed his hand on the wall, flinching at the pain but continuing regardless. “You’ve never understood me, not for one second. You-” there went the pointing finger again. “You are worse than dead to me. If anyone ever asks me if I have a brother, I’ll say no. I never want anything to do with you again, do you hear me?”

Raoul’s words were cutting, but Philippe brushed them aside for the time being. Despite his bravado, Raoul’s eyes were wet.

“Raoul, you must know that everything I did, I did for your own good,” Philippe began. “Come next week, I promise-”

“That’s just it!” Raoul smiled with cold glee. “Come next week, I’ll be off to Perros-Guirec with my bride and my future child. Finally, away from your meddling forever!” He turned his attention away from Philippe to resume rifling through the drawer. 

Philippe moved closer. “You can’t seriously still intend-”

“Intend?” Raoul snorted. “Ha. It’s already been done. Four days ago.”

Raoul raised his hand, and for a moment, Philippe thought he might strike him. But, no, he just intended to show off the piece of string tied around his finger.

Raoul smiled to himself as he continued to ransack the drawer, casting frequent aside glances to see the increasingly horrified look on Philippe’s face. 

“Once Christine and I resolved things, I insisted we not delay the wedding any further, for the sake of our child. She readily agreed, and we were married the next morning. No time for rings, of course, so we tied pieces of string around our fingers until we can have gold ones made.”

Philippe felt as if he might drop dead on the spot. “Raoul, you didn’t…”  
  
Raoul grinned wickedly. “Ah, yes! Your actions do have consequences, Philippe. Unintended ones, yes, but you forced my hand. What did you think I would do? Blithely accept your interference? Allow you to bully the love of my life? Luckily, since we’ll be disowning each other, she won't have you as a brother in law.”

Philippe's face was hot. “You have no idea-”

Raoul interjected. “I came to Christine’s apartment nearly three hours after you left, and she was still crying! She wouldn’t tell me what the matter was, but I took a good look at her handkerchief, which bore your monogram. She said you’d come to convince her to call off our engagement and to get an abortion. Said I would abandon her and leave her to sell her body. Do you deny it?”

“Raoul, I only ever meant to protect you,” Philippe said, rubbing his clammy hands together.

“You’re not answering the question, are you? I'll take that as a yes,” Raoul angrily wiped at his eyes.   
  
“Do you realize the ramifications of what you’ve done?” Philippe clenched his jaw, trying valiantly to remain composed. “Our family is on the brink of ruin, do you not realize that?”

Raoul appraised him with utter contempt. “I know full well what I’ve done. How can I pretend to give a damn about the Chagny name, when you couldn’t care less about the ramifications of what _ you’ve _ done?”

“What _ I've _ done?” Philippe spluttered. “Young man, everything I’ve ever done for you, whether you liked it or not, came from a place of love. Has it ever occurred to you that I might know better than you? I care about you and your future. Let’s get this silly marriage annulled and leave this wretched business behind us.”

Raoul merely rolled his eyes and abandoned his search of the drawer, shifting his focus to the boxes he kept under the bed.

“For God’s sake, Raoul, what are you looking for?”

“Mother’s diary, the one she kept when she was carrying me,” Raoul groaned. “She kept it for me. I know it's here somewhere.”

“Why do you need it?” 

Raoul spoke as if Philippe were the slowest child in the world. “As I told you, I'm leaving, never to return. I want to take it with me.”

“What do you expect to live on?”

“My inheritance, the one I'm entitled to. You gave our sisters their shares when they wed, and now I want mine. You've managed my life and my finances for too long. If you don't give it to me, I'll sue you for it, further dragging the Chagny name through the mud,” Raoul made a small, satisfied noise, holding the journal aloft.

Raoul did have a point, but Philippe wasn’t inclined to let him think he had the upper hand. So he changed tactics. 

“So, just to spite me, you'll humiliate your sisters and their families as well?” 

“They’ve had their married names longer than they had the Chagny name. Once I’m gone, it’ll just be you. And anyway, Constance said she would help me in any way she could.”

This was Raoul’s most patently ridiculous statement yet. The elder of the two Chagny sisters was far more obsessed with obeying the rules and morals of society than Philippe ever was. He had to be bluffing. 

“Why would she do that?”

Raoul gave him a self-satisfied smirk. “Probably because you were the one who prevented her from marrying the man she wanted. Constance told me so herself, that when you had control over the family after Father got sick, that you told her it would be improper for any Chagny to marry someone without a title. So she ended up with her idiot husband. I was too young to remember, but she told me all about it.”

Philippe tugged at his collar. It felt awfully hot all of a sudden. “That story is irrelevant to our discussion here. What are you going to do about Miss Daaé?”

Raoul placed the diary inside the suitcase, slamming it shut and locking it. “I don't think that's any concern of yours. Have a nice life, Philippe. I know I surely will.”

With that, Raoul left the room, dragging the heavy suitcase behind him, taking no care if it banged into the wall. Philippe followed him down the stairs and to the entryway. 

“What are you going to do? I’m warning you, you can’t just come crawling back to me after all of this is over. Raoul, please, be sensible.”  
  
As the younger Chagny opened the door, he turned around to give Philippe a look. He could see that the boy was on the verge of tears, but still triumphant. 

“Goodbye, Philippe. I don’t suppose we’ll see each other again, although I think I shall send you an announcement when the baby is born. I do hope it’s a girl, for we will certainly name it after Maman.”

Philippe couldn’t help but take a cheap shot. It was all he had left. “You think she’d be proud of what you’ve done?”   
  
He’d clearly wounded Raoul, who flinched. Yet his brother has a retort. “I couldn’t say, after all, I never met her, sadly. But you probably know the answer to this one, Monsieur le Comte. Would she be proud of you?”

Without any further word, Raoul slammed the door in his brother’s face. But Philippe knew he’d be back. For certain. He had to believe that. He had to. 


End file.
